Page 157 of The Sun King's Noon

“Sit, girl!”

Penelope flushed and lowered herself back into her chair. Her eyes flicked to Richard—wide and apologetic—then dropped to her lap.

Alaric snorted into his wine. “Welcome, Sun King. My clothes suit you well.”

Richard kept his face blank. He needed to be careful here, lest he inadvertently let slip to Octavia anything of Alaric’s underground dealings.

Richard strode to the spare chair, tugged it out, and gestured to Lady Agnes. “My lady.”

Agnes squinted at him. “Most generous, Your Majesty. But I shall happily stand. Soon, the blood will depart my head and pool into my feet, whereupon I shall collapse and crack my head, and thus be carried from this room a corpse with my brains trickling out. And the Estaran king shall perhaps one day find part of my cerebral matter stuck deep in the tiles’ grooves.”

“Lady Agnes.” Richard flourished his hand. “Do sit down.”

“As Your Majesty commands.”

She doddered forward. Richard waited until she was settled, then sat upon the chair’s broad walnut arm. He crossed one knee over the other as the rest of his group gathered behind him.

Richard gave Marius an acrid smile. “Your hospitality is, as ever, instructive, Your Majesty.”

It was Octavia who replied, with a tinkling laugh. “We seek only to make you comfortable, Sun King. I am told you came to our city unannounced and stole a ship. Now, a king who travels in disguise can hardly object to being treated, on arrival, as the disguise suggested.”

“Please allow me to clarify.” Richard draped his arm along the back of the chair. “I did not enter Estara in disguise to insult your crown. I had wished, rather, to see your realm as common folk see it.”

“How charming,” Octavia said. “And did your appreciation of our gifts also require a journey to an island no sane sailor will approach?”

Richard shrugged a shoulder. “There are some curiosities that cannot be found in a market stall.” He turned to Marius. “But enough of my adventures. The secret is out, King Marius. My realm now knows it was you who arranged the deaths of my parents. There is no longer any pretence between you and me.”

Marius took a swallow of wine and examined Richard over the rim of the goblet. He chuckled, and Richard clenched his fists, digging his nails deep into his palm to dissolve the pure, white rage that seared through.

“I should like to know why you gave the harpy my letter as proof.” Richard licked his dry lips—the fire seemed to have seeped all moisture from them. “Did you not know Galdran meant to use it to expose your crime before my court? Had I been a less merciful king, Princess Penelope might well have been killed on Ardenian soil, for she too was in attendance.”

Marius’s brows creased. “It was not me who delivered the Gloam King your letter.”

Octavia sighed, her lashes fluttering. “Forgive me, husband. I had hoped to spare you the worry of it.” She raised a slender hand to her throat. “The harpy. The Gloam King’s envoy…it came separately to me in the dead of night and demanded the letter. It knew I had it, though I still do not know how. I refused at first, of course, but it told me—” She drew in a shaky breath. “It told me that if I did not place it in its hand by sundown, it would visit my husband’s bedchamber that night and rip out his heart while he slept.” She gripped Marius’s hand tightly. “I was terrified, my lord. I thought only of you. I gave her the letter. I did not know—how could I have known—that she meant to use it against our sweet Penelope?—”

“My heart.” Marius’s eyes had gone soft, and his thumb stroked along her wrist. “Why did you not tell me?”

“I could not bear to frighten you.”

“Foolish girl.” He kissed her knuckles. “My sweet.”

Richard scoffed. What a performance. “Perhaps we may then arrive at a plainer question.” He rapped his fingers on the table. “What is Estara’s current relationship with Gloamvarn?”

Octavia tilted her head onto Marius’s shoulder. “Current relationship? Why, nothing so dire as your tone suggests. The Gloam king’s intentions, as they have been conveyed to us, are most misunderstood.” Her lips curved. “He seeks union. A peaceable joining—truly, a most elegant solution, if one has the imagination for it.” Her smile sharpened. “Why, you, Sun King, might even benefit from such a match. Marriage is, after all, a fine teacher. There are many arts one learns only by sharing a bed. Since Your Majesty has delayed the lesson so very long, perhaps Galdran may yet instruct you.”

The ring of steel echoed behind Richard. By the doors, the Estaran soldiers came to life with a clatter of armour and rap of spear-butts. Richard lifted a hand without looking behind.

“Put them away.”

There was a terse pause, then the rasp of blades being sheathed—likely by Joffrey, Kaelen and the Ardenian soldiers.

Marius was guffawing, his head thrown back and wine spilling from his cup. He slapped the arm of his chair.

“Oh, excellent,” he wheezed. “Excellent, my dear. By Ignatious, you always did know where the knife goes in.” He wiped at his eye. “Still without a lover, are you not, King Richard? Still untouched? Gods, but Haldric despaired of it.”

Richard’s spine went rigid.

Marius shook his head, marvelling. “Do you know, I sat with Haldric one autumn night, and we drained a bottle between us, and that man wept. Buried his face in his hands and asked me in what manner had he failed in raising his son, for his eldest did not know how to desire another. He told me he prayed at Emberlain’s stand every midnight and begged the gods to heal your deficiency. To stir in you the heat that stirs in all healthy men. And the gods, it seems”—Marius tipped his cup towards Richard in mock toast—“declined.”